“You’ve turned the tables.” Lanzo’s eyes softened with hope. “Keep her safe for a few days. Then the two of you will be gone and none of it will matter.”
I think Lanzo may have fingered the roll of Euros he had in his pocket. He nodded and I said, “Good.” I gestured to Sophie. “We’ll be back.”
I clapped him on the shoulder before facing Sophie to bow at the waist and sweep my hands towards the path up the embankment. She smiled and laughed a bit at my antics, gesturing for me to lead the way.
I did, only stopping a few yards up the path as I heard another siren. I tried to remember if they had been this common the entire time and I have never noticed, or if this was new. I suspected it was new.Â
With the busy night behind us, the sun was beginning to paint the terracotta roofs of Old Town. It would still be awhile before the trams were operating, so we walked in a pleasant quiet for a time until I decided to lengthen the walk with Sophie by swinging by the cathedral to check the drop point. Atwell would probably be trying to lie low, but if he had anything to communicate it would be there. There wasn’t anything. I decided use the payphone to check the mobile’s voicemail.
I can’t tell you if I’m happy I did that or not. After the chirping of the system, I dialed in the code and a gravelly Russian voice came on. “Mitnick wishes to meet with you.” I was happy to ignore that until a more convenient time, but it concluded, “Do not worry. We will meet you at your cafe, say hello to Simon for you.”
The line went dead in my hand and I stood there, my neanderthal brain trying to process the new information. When it did, I hung up the receiver. “I have to go meet Mitnick.”
Sophie fluttered her eyes in the way that she did when I was being particularly stupid. “No. He may suspect.”
“He does. He’s waiting for me at the cafe.”
Sophie slipped an arm through mine and pulled gently. “Then let us not be there. To go home, to rest.”
I had told Sophie about Simon a few times, but I hadn’t mentioned that the old man had become important to me. Or maybe it was the fact that I wasn’t willing to let Simon get caught up in all of this. Either way, I answered, “They’ve got Simon. They’re waiting at the cafe.”
Unless upset by one of her bouts of obsession, there was always a harmony in Sophie, a happy poise. I realized how much I had come to rely on this as it disappeared. She produced a, “Oui.” The declaration sounded like the end of the world. Whatever was happening in Sophie internally didn’t bubble out as a refusal, but her green eyes flooded with a kind of resolute gloom, as if we were discussing something as immutable as bad weather. “I will go with you.”
“If you come with me they’ll know we’re together. It’ll only confirm Mitnick’s suspicions. He’ll kill us both.”
The truth of those words caused Sophie to stutter, which gave me a moment to take both of her hands in my own. I tried to reflect an ounce of the calm that she lent to me in our daily lives, and I found in her face a similar reel of my own feelings of impotence and anger.
In the shadow of the cathedral, she paused, only to to continue in a deathly quiet, “If they kill you, I will build a mountain of their corpses.”
It might have been the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. I squeezed her hands. “It won’t come to that.”
I hugged her tight until the sky began to lighten, the sun painting the tips of the cathedral’s onion domes. When I let her go I could tell she had shed some tears, but those were gone by the time she lifted her head. “How will I know?”
There were a lot of different dimensions to that question and I tried to consider all of them. When a lone birdsong started in the background I answered, “If things go well, I’ll be home as soon as I can.” I left the other alternatives unsaid.
She kissed me before she started walking us towards a tram station. We held hands the entire way, not something I’m sure we’ve ever done before. We arrived at a station, still with only the barest of early morning crowds. After another lingering hug, we each found the tramcar point to Les Moulins. Realizing how much I wanted Sophie to come with me, I said, “It would be stupid for both of us to go.”
She nodded, in the soft, sad way of a funeral director.Â
We kissed and I stepped onto the tram, the pneumatic doors softly closing behind me.
The Hill District was as far as you could get from the river and the ocean it flowed to and still be in Slakterquay. Which is the way Layla Rodriguez liked it. The closer you got to the river and, particularly the ocean, the richer and whiter the City got, and Layla had enough tourists wander through her shop. She could always tell newcomers because they pronounced Slakterquay wrong. They almost always made it sound like Slaughter Quaye, which was probably more right than anyone cared to admit. The clay under the city, and all it contained, was proof of that.
The rolling streets that gave the district its name assured the ignorant arrived panting and out of breath, stepping into her front parlor a little more likely to believe whatever half-truths the credulous wanted. Fortunes told, dead relatives spoken to, the lost found, all of the usual things. Then there were clients like the spritely Aggie McPherson.
A small brass bell, an heirloom from her grandmother and only God knows how many mothers before her, hung above the shop’s entrance. It made the usual tinny sounds when a customer entered but, as her grandmother had told her, the volume of the bell always matched the trouble the person brought with them.
That morning, the bell sounded like a gong. Layla looked up from the book she was reading and caught herself in the mirror she had behind the counter. It was positioned so customers had to look themselves in the eye while making a purchase. She could read volumes in how a person examined themselves in the mirror and had, more than once, ceased a transaction or made an alternative suggestion based on what she had seen there.
Whoever had brought trouble to her shop, though, wasn’t in the mirror yet and Layla wondered, not for the first time, what her grandmother would think of her now. She shared the same dark skin as all the women in her family, but her graying hair was put up in a scarf fit for a gypsy, sprouting from its multi-colored silk in the way of the mad and untended homeless. It contrasted strongly with the dark gown she wore, a brown ragged thing with bones knitted into it. They were a flair suggested by a colleague, their clatter able to punctuate important proclamations or frighten the annoying.Â
Out of boredom this morning, she had put a streak of purple down her right cheek to see what reaction this might elicit from any rubes that walked in. In her shop far from home, in her motley assemblage of carnival wear, she found it felt like the one thing that truly belonged to her. So she led with that side of her face, the eye above it squinting as she slowly turned to examine who had entered her shop.
It didn’t exactly frighten her to see Aggie already standing on the other side of the counter, but it almost caused her to start. For Aggie to move quickly and subtly wasn’t unusual in Layla’s experience, but to be accompanied by the bell was. To verify this was her long-time customer and not some phantasm, she said the other woman’s name as a question.
Aggie smirked in a way that, as far as Layla was able to tell, was her one indication of actual fondness. “Hi Layla. You’re surprised to see me.”
Layla Rodriguez, bruja of Slakterquay, descendant of women who had burned at the stake rather than be enslaved, found the pride of her ancestors and stood tall. This allowed her to admit the truth. “Not you. But ja usually don’t trip the bell.”
Aggie glanced over her shoulder, eyes arcing towards the ceiling as she looked from the entrance and back to Layla. The proprietor took some small pride in still being in control of her space when her friend and customer asked, “What bell?”
To cover this, Layla pursed her lips and shook her head, letting her dangling gold earrings dispel the question. “It don’t matter. It’s been too quiet today.”
Aggie’s smile broadened, which usually indicated that she was about to amuse herself, Aggie’s main occupation next to dressing in expensive suits and working to pay for them. “You know, it might help if you named this place and put a sign outside.”
Layla dismissed this notion with a pshaw and a waggling of her fingers as if scooting naughty schoolchildren out. “I get enough business from the rubes. Anymore would test my patience.”Â
“Well, I like the purple. It’s a nice touch. Should freak out the tourists.” Layla smiled as Aggie reminded her of what she liked about the detective. She tended to notice anything out of the ordinary as well as its source.
With that in mind, Layla leaned forward, putting her elbows on the counter. “Would you like some tea?”
“That sounds delightful.” This brought out another smile from Layla. While the detective might be a bit too concerned with the material world, at least she was always polite.
With a drawing back of the curtain behind the counter, the two of them moved into Layla’s parlor, its old wooden floorboards making it feel as if they were stepping into the belly of the ship they might have been salvaged from. As Layla prepared the tea, Aggie asked, “No little street urchin to help you out today?”
“Luisa,” Layla corrected, “is old enough to start school and the sisters of the Parish have been kind enough to let her attend St. John’s.”
“You’re gonna let those old crows get their claws into that little girl? After all you’ve taught her?”
“Hush now. The sisters mean well and teach good. And Luisa needs to learn how to blend in.” Layla set down the tray at the table Aggie had arranged chairs at, the teapot and cups delicately placed as any Japanese ceremony.Â
“As long as some priest doesn’t get her alone in the rectory.”
Layla held the pot gingerly, pouring the steaming liquid into the cups one at a time. “If anyone tries to have their way with that child they’ll burn in the fires of Hell. Priest or no, I’ll see to that.”
Aggie quirked an eyebrow at Layla and her grin returned. “I really do enjoy your accent. Where is it you’re from again?”
Reconsidering her opinion on Aggie’s politeness, Layla sat down across from her. Rather than touch her tea, she steepled her fingers below her chin and gazed at her guest. Dropping the thicker edges of her accent, she asked, “What brings you around today?”
Aggie picked up her tea and blew on it, stirring the steam into the air. “I have a client that’s got a revenant on his trail.”
“Then you need to let that client go,” Layla answered, grasping her cup in both hands. “If it gains enough force it’ll chew through anything to get at what it wants.”
“I just need to figure out why it’s after my client. Technically, I’m not working for him yet, but I’d like to get a jump on it.”
“Not like you to start work for a client before an arrangement has been made. Who is this person?”
“Oh, then,” Layla took a deliberately long sip from her cup before saying, “Best of luck.”
Aggie leaned back in her chair, staring with a long appraisal that Layla ignored by pretending to be very selective about a sugar cube. The silence went on long enough that Layla was about to offer Aggie one when she finally responded. “Well, I’m not really working for him yet.”
“Technically,” Layla offered.
“Technically. In the future, if everything goes through, I’d be working for Haddo Skull.”
Layla stood so fast that the tray and pot rattled on the table, her earrings jangled and her bones rattled. “Get out.” She helpfully pointed to the door.Â
Aggie didn’t move. “So you know him?”
“I know he’s an evil sinvergüenza.”
“I’m impressed. I had to do a lot of digging to even find his last name. Or, rather, the stupid alias that he’s going by. I suspect he’s had a number of names over the years.”
Layla lowered her pointed hand as Aggie’s calm salved her quick temper. She smoothed the idiot bones on her gown as she reseated herself, eyes on her guest in a steadying reevaluation. “And for good reason. Why would you get mixed up with that?”
“It’s a long story, but it involved the good Reverend I introduced you too.”
At the mention of Reverend Taggart, Layla’s sympathy overrode her animosity. “Oof, is that puppy having more bad luck?”
“Probably. He seems the type, but I don’t think it involves this.”
“Then why? And be quick, or take my instructions to go.”
“Haddo has given me his word that if I find out about his Revenant he’ll leave Taggart and his congregation alone.”
Layla held her gaze on Aggie in the same way she might with a client who said they didn’t believe in Greenland. “If you stay out of it, it seems to me that the Revenant will solve that problem for you.”
Aggie shrugged, sipped her tea. “Maybe. Or the Legion might take him being targeted by a powerful supernatural entity as proof their cause is righteous and do something stupid.” She set her tea down. “It wouldn’t surprise me if a couple of them are just waiting for a reason to go postal.”
“What?”
“The Legion has amassed quite an arsenal. I’m sure there’s a few of them that are itching to start using it.”
Layla contemplated the kraken on her teapot. “Lots of targets for that lot in Slakterquay.”
“Yep. And the weapons are all legal so the cops can’t do anything about it. Of course.”
“Of course.” Layla thought she might have spotted the odd figure hanging around her shop, but it hadn’t concerned her much until Aggie’s news. Now she spent a moment trying to remember any detail she could, trying to make any connection. None surfaced, but she did remember the strange young woman who had come into the shop the other day.
“So you can see how keeping Haddo in play might keep the peace until a more permanent solution can be arrived at?” Layla picked up her cup again and tried not to grin, imagining what a permanent solution for Haddo Skull might look like.
“Fair point. But I couldn’t help you if I wanted. Revenants are necromancy and all of my arts in that sphere are just tricks and trades for the rubes.”
“You don’t have anything that might be protective?”
“Not for Haddo Skull I don’t. Legion or no, I’m not helping that bastardo.”
“OK,” Aggie conceded the point. “But Haddo claims he doesn’t know who sicced it on him. Or murdered anyone. Lately,” she added after a pause. “You have any ideas on how I might track it down?”
Layla let out a laugh, strong enough that it caused her head to go back and it drew a chuckle from Aggie. When she leveled her eyes back to Aggie, her grin had taken on a feral cruelty that would have set Taggart back. “What are you going to do if you find it? Talk to it? Bargain with it?” As if it were the funniest idea of all, she added, “Beg?”
“No. But I’d have a place to start.”
Layla shook her head. “I can provide a gris-gris for you in case you’re unlucky enough to find it. Nothing more.” She returned to her tea, but when Aggie’s grin remained unchanged, Layla added, “But you knew that.”
“I thought that might be the case,” Aggie said, perhaps a bit too proudly for Layla’s liking. “But it couldn’t hurt to ask.”
“So what’s the real reason you came around then?”
“An old associate can’t drop by for cuppa?” Aggie said, sounding like a cereal box leprechaun. Layla only stared in return, immobile until Aggie continued in her normal voice. “I thought you might have noticed something out of ordinary lately. Clouds on the horizon, so to speak.”
Layla set down her cup, about to say that she hadn’t noticed anything that was strange for Slakterquay. This was her guarded side, though, the front she kept for rubes and would-be hucksters and white people in general. This was Aggie, though. They had always dealt with her squarely and never dragged trouble to her door, even when they could have. So she took a longer consideration. Then, “Nothing on the horizon, but a woman came in the other day. Little more than a waif. She had something strange she wanted to sell.”
“What’s that?”
“A blasting rod.”
That inquisitive eyebrow of Aggie’s arched. She set down her cup and raised her hands, holding them about a foot apart. “Was it about this long?” Layla nodded, causing Aggie to quickly bring her hands closer so they were a thumb’s width from each other. “About this wide?”
Layla nodded again adding, “Made of yew with a brass tip inset with a pointed ruby.”
Aggie leaned back in her chair, forgetting her tea. “She must have known what she had. Any normal thief would pry out the ruby and sell it.”
“True,” Layla agreed. “Nonetheless, I told her not to break the rod. If it still had charm, it could go badly for her.” Layla sipped her tea while she observed an uncustomary consternation on her friend’s face. “You surprised?”
“I am,” Aggie admitted in a way that suggested she didn’t care for the experience. “I thought it would be a man.”
“You’re looking for a thief now?”
“No. I’m just looking for leverage.”
It was Layla’s turn to look perplexed. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s not important. Did you get a name?”
The woman who came in had been cagey, hadn’t introduced herself, which wasn’t unusual for first-timers into Layla’s shop. She had been tall, red-haired, and too thin for the cool, damp climate of Slakterquay. They parted ways when they couldn’t agree on price. The woman wanted more, but Layla didn’t have much use for it. Layla told Aggie all of this. At the end she added, “I don’t know where she was headed next, but there are only so many places she could sell such a thing.”
“Yeah,” Aggie nodded. “I was really hoping you bought it.”
Feeling the broken revolver bump against my bruises as I ran, I cursed not picking up the vory’s weapon. I slapped my feet against the ground and hurried, changing directions only to turn back on course, hoping to shake off any pursuers.
Between the cloister of warehouses and the river’s edge was the long, empty road that separated the two. Moonlit and desolate, it held nothing but the promise of being seen. I hid with my back against a brick wall and tried to listen, my own ragged breathing filling my ears.Â
The best I could hope for was the absence of headlights. When the dark went on without interruption, I sprinted across the road, coming to a skidding halt at the chains, nearly taking me over and down the embankment.
While I had cursed the moonlight in the alleys and streets, it may have been the only thing that kept me from tumbling off the narrow path down. I shuffled as quick as I could, small landslides kicking off from my feet.
I was relieved to see the door of the hutch slightly ajar, a warm light spilling out into the night’s cool air. As I got closer I could hear voices within, words being exchanged in tones high and animated.
I pushed into the room quickly, bringing it to silence. In the small space was everyone; all three of the voyous, Nika and Lanzo, Sophie’s head nearly bumping into the ceiling. She strode forward to cover my face with a flutter of soft kisses and I think I could have been happy to die right there.
As distracting as that was, I couldn’t help but notice Nika staring around the dirty and subterranean room with a barely controlled horror. Even emptied of garbage the place was still a hole.
The voyous were too busy backslapping to notice. Lanzo held Nika as her mouth began to move sporadically. I slipped out of Sophie’s hug and moved to Lanzo. I placed a firm hand on his shoulder and indicated Nika with my eyes. “We should get her inside.”
Cradling her in their uncertainty and fear, he nodded back at me, and I let him lead the way. A quick glance at Sophie told her to keep the two groups separate.
Once through the door, Nika let out a gasp. The glow of the fairy lights created an unreal, bright island under the city. She involuntarily stopped, unsure of the mirage Lanzo had conjured. When the vision of this subterranean boudoir persisted, Nika squeaked slightly, letting go of Lanzo’s hand to touch the bed.
Confirming its solidity, Nika laughed quietly, the sound echoing across the arched ceiling like it might in Old Town’s cathedral. She hopped backwards onto the bed, landing on her butt, laughing, causing Lanzo to join.
This spread from Nika to Lanzo to Sophie, the latter floating a hand to softly land on my back. As Nika pulled Lanzo close to the bed for a kiss, I couldn’t help but ruin things by whispering, “We’re going to need to change those sheets later.”
Sophie playfully slapped my arm, mock punishing my crudeness. I just let out a long breath into the illusion Nika could be safe here for awhile.
Lanzo surprised everyone by bending down to retrieve something hidden under the mattress’ comforters. Looking every bit like Simon’s old-school waiter, Lanzo came up with something piled high under a cloth, holding it as if it were on a platter. As Nika stared at it in confusion, he whipped off the cloth to reveal a motley stack of books.
It took me a moment to realize that Lanzo was presenting her with something to pass the time and, judging by the widening of her smile, one of her favorites. I let out a surprised grunt. I had assumed that Nika and Lanzo didn’t know each other well, a cynical part of me thinking their reuniting would end in disaster, that we’d be lucky if they got along long enough to get out of town. But here was proof that Lanzo knew something of Nika and that he cared enough to cater to those desires. She glowed nearly as bright as the fairy lights before bringing Lanzo in for another kiss.
This went on for awhile. When I heard the voyous chuckling like schoolboys I decided it was time to intervene. I stepped back to the main room and said, “You’ll be staying here for a few days. It’s not much but it’ll keep you safe and hidden till we can get you out of the country.”
Holding Lanzo on the bed between me and her, Nika stared at me. Standing within those ancient stone walls, I must have resembled some kind of golem, a barely formed hulk that was both useful and frightening. Feeling a need to fulfill this role, I added, “We’ll bring you anything you need.” I waggled a thumb between me and Sophie.
Nika’s uncertainty gave way to an animated joy, her eyes brightening as she let go of Lanzo to bump around on the mattress like a kid at Christmas. It made her seem even younger than she was. I felt a sudden tightness in my chest that I tried to banish but wouldn’t go.
I got Lanzo’s attention and swiveled my head back the way we came. “Walk us out.” He nodded, promising Nika he’d return shortly while she held onto him. He kissed her, clearly as reluctant to leave as she was to let him go.
Eyes back on me, she said, “I didn’t think they’d be able to follow me.”
I realized then she was embarrassed, that she was surviving the experience all young people must survive in realizing that they aren’t as smart as they think we are. I thought about the one long road down from Mitnick’s and his palatial part of town and wondered how she thought they wouldn’t be able to follow her. Instead of saying that, though, I lied. “They probably had a tracker on the car.” Maybe they did.
I don’t know if this consoled her, but she let Lanzo go. I walked him and the voyou back into the main room. I spoke to all four as if we were one happy squad. “You’re going to need to stay here full time for the next couple of days. If you need supplies, only one of you goes,” I floated a finger across the voyous. I pointed at Lanzo, “You stay here, no matter what.”Â
Everyone nodded and I gestured at Lanzo. “Let’s talk for a minute.” I sensed that the Idiots wanted to follow us, but Sophie interposing presence dissuaded them.Â
Outside of the hutch, there was the distant sound of police sirens and I let those fade away before I spoke. The dark reflexively caused my voice to drop to a whisper. “You going to be able to hold it together?” I asked Lanzo.
He responded with a, “Oui,” and a stare out into the night that made me doubt him.
“You’ve turned the tables.” Lanzo’s eyes softened with hope. “Keep her safe for a few days. Then the two of you will be gone and none of it will matter.”
I think Lanzo may have fingered the roll of Euros he had in his pocket. He nodded and I said, “Good.” I gestured to Sophie. “We’ll be back.”
The Bundhaus was not easily accessible. A few hours drive outside of Slakterquay, the journey took one from highway, to county road, to access road to, finally, a dirt road that led deep into the thick woods that surrounded the city. It was lovely, dark and deep forest, untouched by the logging that had helped build the city, leaving it quiet and pristine in its beauty.
Which would have been idyllic, except Aggie McPherson hated the outdoors, didn’t drive, and wasn’t looking forward to the appointment. Watching it from the second-story veranda of the Bundhaus, Haddo Skull could discern all of these things. Stepping out from the taxi, the detective carefully placed a well-polished shoe onto the wet gravel of the drive. Standing to full height, Aggie was short, narrow in shoulders and hips enough to be of indeterminate gender, the impression of which was only heightened by black spiky hair. Buttoning the jacket of a bespoke suit, the detective examined the surroundings, expression neutral until it fell on the house itself. Through his opera glasses, Haddo could see her expression curdle.
The well-tailored gray suit, to Haddo’s eye, was cut for a man, or perhaps a tall youth, and didn’t align with what Haddo thought a woman should wear. Particularly not a professional, as women had a limited number of functions. And this detective, he knew from investigations both mystic and mundane, straddled all of the domains meant for man and woman and perhaps more.
In fact, he hated the detective and all of her kind. However, he had need for her now.
On this rare occasion Bundhaus was empty, its front doors left open to the damp spring Pacific air. With the taxi idling in the drive, the detective strode in through massive wooden front doors and into the vestibule. On the floorboards that had been hewn from the virgin forest, she stopped, placed her hands in her pockets and waited.
Haddo gave McPherson several minutes in the entryway, waiting to see if her curiosity would get the better of her. However, she remained unmoved, alert just within the Bundhaus’ threshold.
The hall of the Bundhaus was two-stories and long, stretching the entire length of the wooden structure. It was dotted with doors on either side till it ended at a stage, flanked by red banners with silver shields. Normally, that was where Haddo would descend to meet the Legionnaires, to take the pulpit and speak to them about saving America from the mongrel hoard that beset her shores, to preach of the great destiny of Columbia.
However, when McPherson didn’t move, it necessitated Haddo take one of the two staircases that flanked the vestibule. His movements were no longer as swift as they once were and he would not suffer the indignity of hobbling down the long hall to meet her.
Normally, Haddo would be dressed in the ceremonial robes of his station, but doing so would only affirm too many of Aggie’s prejudices. So today Haddo had dressed in one of his finer suits he always wore for important auslanders. As he descended the stairs he was rather annoyed that, aside from the Mandarin collar on the detective’s suit, the two wore similar outfits.
It was not until his foot left the final step to touch the floor of the entryway that Aggie McPherson turned to meet his gaze. Her professionalism kept her face expressionless, but he could see contempt in those violet eyes. Her tone was neutral when she pronounced his name. “Haddo Skull.”  She looked around him as if he were flanked by invisible guards. “Where are your brown shirts?”
Haddo felt his own contempt pull at the edge’s of his mouth, but provided a restrained reply of, “The men who dedicate their lives to the Legion are called Silver Shields.”
Aggie eyed the red banners at the end of the hall, then back to Haddo. “You say tomato, I say Nazi.
“What am I doing here Haddo?”
“I have need of your services. Although, honestly, it took me some time to discern what those services are.” Even in his advanced age, Haddo towered over Aggie and so stepped closer. “Your office door may say Spectral Analyst but you reputation sprawls beyond mere specters. Exorcist? Fixer? Demonologist? Private investigator?” He added an extra dollop of sarcasm onto the last rubric, “Hero?”
Aggie gave him the scornful frown Haddo had been waiting for all along. Instead of rising to that, though, she replied, “How about you just call me detective?”
“I believe you prefer to be called Aggie.”
“You can call me McPherson.”
“Well, Ms. McPherson — “
“Just McPherson. Or detective. Take your pick.”
That stopped Haddo. He was prepared to deal with this person, whatever she might be, but he could only tolerate so much presumptuousness from this untermensch. He felt compelled to remind her, “You clearly know who I am. And yet you come here unarmed, unescorted and display such rudeness. The last makes the first two unwise.”
Aggie matched Haddo’s step towards her, seeming to grow taller as she did. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“Then you are a foolish woman indeed.”
Aggie stared up at him. “Haddo, what I am is not something I’m here to learn from you.” With a briskness that caused her brightly lacquered nails to leave trails in the dim air of the vestibule, McPherson pulled a small card from her blazer pocket. “You invited me here. What do you want?”
Haddo took the card from her, inspecting it as a conductor might a train ticket. Truth was, he simply didn’t want anyone else to ever see it. He knew it read:
Please come to the Bundhaus Estate on March 19 at 08:00. Grandmaster Haddo wishes to discuss an important matter of border science and its impact upon his health. You will be compensated for your time.
While Haddo disappeared the invitation into his breast pocket, McPherson said, “Border science. That’s not a term that’s been popular since the days of Hans Bender. And since I don’t think your old enough to have been kicking around with the sturmabteilung, I think you must be using it as code for something. Something you don’t want your silver shield buddies to know about.”
Haddo felt himself bridle at having his motives so easily deduced. He kept a chain on that beast, though, saving it for later. Instead, he turned his back on his guest and returned to the stairs. “If you want to know the answer, come this way.” He was very pleased when he heard McPherson follow him.
He led her to his office, softly illuminated by the balcony windows through which he had observed her. Tired of pretending his legs didn’t hurt, he sat down at the massive and ancient cedar desk. From behind its vast expanse he saw see the detective already waiting, examining the vitrine of keepsakes and curios that sat between the two windows of his balcony.
Haddo waited a long time for her to prompt him, but she said nothing. He wondered if she was always this patient. It was that or she had reasoned out that it was a matter of time until a Silver Shield returned. After what had happened with that idiot Cordell, that wouldn’t do. So, reluctantly Haddo began. “There is a Revenant seeking to throw me down into perdition.”
Without turning from his trophies, Aggie interrupted with a, “Oof. Tough luck. Those things are nasty.” Haddo was pleased that she demonstrated the required knowledge of what a revenant was and simultaneously annoyed at her having waited so long only to interject with something so pointless. At least, he reasoned, she wasn’t touching anything.
He continued, “It comes at me from the east, but slowly. Its movement is governed by something, but I know not what. Perhaps the sun or the moon.”
Aggie faced him, standing between the light streaming through the two windows. “How do you know this?”
“I have my means.”
“Then why can’t you deal with it yourself? Why call me?”
“It –” Haddo paused, uncomfortable in admitting weakness to this thing. He had come this far, though. “It is beyond my sight.”
“Then its cause is just. No one wants to come back as a revenant, Haddo. Most times it happens it’s ’cause an adept has some kind of conditional invocation prepared.” Aggie paused, then, “You murder any fellow cultists lately?”
“No.”
“Then someone summoned this thing from beyond the grave and has the power to hide it from you. Which is impressive on both counts as trying to hide the necromantic energy needed to summon a revenant is like trying to hide a forest fire under a lampshade.”
“Yes.”
“So you offended a very powerful individual. Or daeva or daimon. Or god. Or, you know, God.”
“Are you suggesting my crusade against the heathen has angered God himself?
“The Christian God? I don’t know. I’ve never spoken to Him. But He did tell Moses, “You shall have no other gods before Me.” That doesn’t preclude the existence of other gods. Quite the opposite. Take my word for it.”
Haddo silently added heathen and blasphemer to the list of sins of his guest. Instead of speaking to that, though, he replied, “So now you know why I requested your presence.”
McPherson broke from the case she had been observing and smoothly moved into one of the two leather chairs that faced Haddo’s desk, draping arms from it. “Haddo, why would I help you?”
“Presumably, for money.”
“Everybody’s gotta pay the rent, sure. But why would I risk tainting my own soul with whatever you’ve done to bring this Revenant down on you?”
Haddo had expected this. But self-righteousness could be so easily redirected. “That church on King Street that you’ve shown an interest in? The one with the half-breeds, perverts, and heretics?”
The hardening in Aggie’s eyes told him he had hit his mark. “If you’re referring to Reverend Taggart’s church, I know it.”
“Help me with this and I’ll have the Legion leave that pathetic rabble alone.”
McPherson tilted her head at Haddo as if examining something under a microscope that was particularly stupid. “Taggart is a loup-garou. He could tear you and your little nazi clubhouse into bits.”
“If he was going to, he would have done it by now.”
“You willing to bet on that?”
Haddo smiled at McPherson. “The question is, are you?”
McPherson straightened up in her chair, examining Haddo anew. Haddo didn’t like it, but he held his smile. The sun moved along his office carpet before she quickly stood, belying the lax position she had been in. Haddo felt something vibrate in the air, but this resolved when McPherson broke eye contact to button her jacket. “I’ll do it. On three conditions.”
Haddo’s grin grew broader. “What would those be?”
“First, you do as you say and keep your filthy little machinations away from the Taggart’s church.”
“Of course.”
“If I so much as catch wind of you near that place, I’ll find this Revenant and point it right at you.”
Haddo nodded, conceding he would not want this. “And?”
“There’s a condo in LoDo. You’re going to buy it for me.”
“Outrageously expensive. And I don’t want you to give me the cash value. I want you to buy the condo. In your own name. Then I want you to sign it over to me.” McPherson stepped through the light to stand across from Haddo’s desk. “No shell companies, no financial chicanery. A straight transfer from you to me, in black and white.”
“I see,” Haddo replied and he did. The transfer would be both payment and insurance policy. He eyed this violet-eyed imp, mapping out the contingencies and blackmail that she was planning by placing these conditions. “And if I agree?”
“Then I find out the Revenant’s story. Every revenant has one and it’s the key to determining how to call it off.” McPherson shrugged, her elegant suit making the slightest of noises as the jacket of the smooth material moved. “Or I go home. Your call.”
Haddo considered this and successfully kept the smile from his face. If this imp thought a piece of paper sharing their names would be enough to break his hold over the Legion, then she greatly underestimated his power. To agree too quickly, though, would be to reveal too much, so he frowned and pushed a pencil across the ink blotter on his desk. Birdsong could be heard from the forest before he said, “Very well. I agree to your terms.”
“OK.” McPherson didn’t move to shake his hand, but put them in her pockets. “Well, you’d better get on buying that condo. I don’t start work until it’s in my name and I’d imagine that’ll take some time.” She hadn’t before, but McPherson smiled now. “And I don’t think you’ve got a lot of time left.”
“Very well.” Haddo rose. “Our business is concluded. Please leave the way you came. I thank you for coming all this way.”
Perplexing Haddo, McPherson’s smile grew broader. “That’s OK. This is a lot more interesting than I thought it would be.” Turning her back on him, she headed towards the door, pointing to his vitrine as she did. “When you brought me in here, I assumed it was to find out whoever stole your whachamacallit.”
Haddo blinked, stopping her with a, “Excuse me?”
McPherson’s smile peeked over her shoulder as did the twinkle in her eye. “The missing item in your little trophy case.” She strode over to the vitrine and pointed to the crushed velvet underneath the glass. Between the ceremonial dagger and brass skull, among the Records of Thule and the grotesque fertility sculpture, lie an outline of something long and thin that had once occupied space in the cabinet.
Perplexed beyond control, Haddo stood and moved to the vitrine, quickly confirming what his imp told him. Staring at the red velvet with its outline of his missing item, he found the words wanting to come out of his mouth to be too revealing. Unwilling to embarrass himself any further, he simply stood there. He found his control tested as McPherson added with barely concealed glee, “What? You didn’t know it was gone?” After a few moments of silence that Haddo could feel the detective savoring, she added, “I would have thought the first edition of Uralt Blut Boden Weisheit was the most valuable thing in here. What was taken?”
Haddo stood up straight and smoothed his ties and jacket that had become disheveled in his mad hobble over to the case. “Something I lent to an associate. Nothing you need to concern yourself over.”
“You sure?” McPherson cocked a plucked and incredulous eyebrow at him. “If I’m going to investigate your Revenant, I don’t want any surprises.”
“Yes.” Haddo gathered his dignity and began to move back to his desk. “I believe this concludes our business. You may go.”
Aggie shrugged, stuffed her hands back into her pockets, and walked towards the door. Haddo tried not to let the jaunty tune she was whistling bother him much.
Select the play button above for an audio reading. Image courtesy ofAnatolir56.
The magpie bird was considered good luck, until it wasn’t. Two of them, Bobbo and Lobbo, their black feathers highlighted with white, discussed this.
“You know,” Lobbo said, “why shouldn’t we be considered good luck? We’re very smart. Everyone says so.”
“True,” Bobbo replied, “but what does intelligence have to do with good luck?”
Lobbo pecked at the meal the pair were scavenging, giving that some thought. “Good point. Humans once associated us with Bacchus, though.”
“Also true,” Bobbo answered after swallowing his own piece of the meal. “But…you’ve met Bacchus. Good time? Yes. Good luck? Eh, maybe not so much.”
Lobbo hummed around his own mouthful then said, “Well, we make fine messengers.”
Bobbo plucked the eye from the fallen soldier the pair feasted on. As he swallowed it, he observed the battlefield they stood at the edges of, thinking of the days of scavenging it would provide. “You know, I’m not sure why they ever considered us good luck. It really is the other way around.”
